Trouble Down Aisle Seven
by darksupernatural
Summary: The boys get a call for help from someone who knows what they do. They soon realize they're up against something bad when it quickly gets the best of them. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BLUE PEANUT M AND M! Hurt!Sam, Hurt!Dean, fuglies galore.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: As promised, here is my next story. It's a bit of a combination of things. A little crack, a little gore, and a jab at where I work. It's also a birthday present. HAPPY BIRTHDAY PEANUT!!!! **

**LOVE YA, SIS. **__**I tried to nail your personality (no pun intended…nope, not at all) don't hate me…*runs and hides* **

**Enjoy the story…**

**Trouble Down Aisle Seven**

**Chapter 1**

Dean leaned over Sam, smoothing his hair back. Sam's brow knotted in pain and his eyes, washed out and looking more gray than blue green, opened to slits before slamming shut again. He moaned.

"Heya Sammy. Can ya swallow some Tylenol?"

"Mmhnn." Sam said, lifting a hand and rubbing his temple with the butt of his palm. Dean helped Sam sit up and handed him two of the white pills. He dry swallowed them and chased the taste away as Dean handed him a can of Seven Up from the pop machine outside the room.

"I hate the flu." Sam muttered, swallowing as he shifted back down into the pillow. He moaned again and his eyes slid shut.

"Just relax and get some sleep. We'll chill here for a few days and then hit the road for the next job."

"Do we even have a job?"

"You know we always find something to toast. Thought we'd head east, check out Ocean City, pick up a couple chicks…"

"Ugh…" Sam said, turning his head and burying it in the pillow. Stale smoke and sweat greeted his nose and made his already churning stomach tip dangerously. He lifted his head and tried to find fresh air to quell the nausea. He laid his throbbing head gingerly on the pillow and breathed through his nose, finally drifting off.

Dean watched his brother for a moment before moving to the small, wobbly table in the corner of the room. He poured himself a cup of cheap motel coffee and settled in front of the laptop,. He began searching for a job along the east coast.

***

Nick Landry poked his head into the employee lounge to see his most trusted retail assistant hanging up her jacket.

"Evenin' Gillian."

"'ello Nick." She answered in her English accent.

"Thanks for volunteering to do the lawn and garden reset tonight."

"Not a problem. I don' mind the shift. Besides, gives me a chance to write when I get home before I'm ready for bed." She said, following Nick to where two pallets of spring merchandise awaited someone to put it on display. She looked at the pictures on some of the boxes as Nick chuckled.

"You and your stories." Gillian picked up a box when she saw the statuary it contained, a flower pot about a foot tall. It was shaped like a human head connected directly to stubby legs with no torso. It looked like an overly large, crying baby.

"I'm made up I'm gonna write one 'bout this place, some o' the stuff ya get in." She said, pulling a face as she looked over the line of pottery, seeing each different expression, from one resembling an old man smoking a pipe to one looking like a man with a lascivious grin on his face. Nick shook his head.

"I'll see ya at seven."

"You will do." Nick turned off all the lights at the circuit panel except the lawn and garden center and the warehouse, locking the door as he left. Gillian pulled her I-pod from her pocket and turned it on, smiling as AC/DC began to play. She picked up the box containing the crying statue again. "My, but you are an ugly li'l bit o' work." Unpacking the box, she turned the statue over. "Made in Flores. Nick, what blind man finds ya these oddities?" She placed the little statue on the end of an aisle and arranged a little topper of artificial greenery, giving him hair. "There now, at least you're not so butt-ugly then."

Gillian turned to reach for another box and unpacked another statue. It was the same type of statue, this one pale white and looked like an old, wrinkly woman. Gillian shook her head and giggled. "There's no help a'tall for you." She placed the rest of the statues, one seemingly uglier than the next. Reading the last box, she saw the old man statue with the pipe in his mouth below his big nose. "An' you're all called Mugly? Shoulda been Fugly."

She moved off to stock a case of seed starting trays. Placing the last of seven trays, she stopped when her I-pod abruptly shut off. "Damn, forgot to change me batt'ries." She made her way through the dimly lit store to the warehouse and into the lounge, digging in her purse for new batteries. Walking back out, she pried the lid off the I-pod and pulled out the dead batteries, placing her new ones. She heard a noise and looked around the rental department that she'd just stepped into. Seeing nothing, she shook her head and walked back to lawn and garden.

Gillian worked steadily and was just putting the finishing touches on the solar patio lighting display when she flicked the skip button on her I-pod, her head lifting when she heard a noise like a slap before the next song started. She pulled her earphones away and stopped, listening for the noise again.

"'ello?" She called. Hearing nothing, she was about to put her music back on halfway through the first strains of _Highway to Hell, _when she heard the noise again. She turned and tried to find the source. Unable to find anything out of place, she shook her head and chuckled, placing her ear buds again. "I'm losin' me bloody mind."

"Bloody mind. Bloody mind." She missed the echoed words and the _pit pat _of swiftly moving feet followed by childlike giggles. Gillian had placed the empty boxes back on the pallet to be moved for recycling when the lights in the store came on and Nick came through the warehouse from the back entrance.

"Mornin' Nick." She said as her boss walked into lawn and garden.

"Wow, the section looks great." he said, stopping to admire her work with the spring merchandise.

"Yep. Even your li'l odd balls there." Gill said, nodding towards the little flower pots arranged on artificial turf with statues of rabbits and frogs around them.

"Thanks for workin' the shift, Gill." Nick said as the other workers began filtering in. He walked her to the break room. "I have another shipment coming in next week. It's welding and air tools. Think you can merchandize it?"

"Sure. As I've said, I really don' mind the shift. Gives me a bit of a chance t' goof."

"Yeah well, if you call goofin' off the kind of work you did out there, then I wish more of my employees would do it. I'll see ya at nine." Nick smiled at her and walked out to open the front entrance. Gill clocked out and went home.

The day passed quickly and Nick let the employees out and locked up, heading home. The quiet settled over the store until it was broken by scuffling sounds and childlike giggles. The fast slap of feet against tile rang out and the display of wind chimes clattered as the rack was shaken. Paint cans were knocked from their shelves, the wet contents oozing from the bent containers as raspy giggles joined the cacophony. The sound of running feet could be heard into the tool department where drill bits were taken from their cases and flung at the drywall, embedding deep into the white paint of the surface. The antiques were rattled until they fell from the walls, railroad lanterns shattering on impact. Children's toys were scattered all around the registers. The sun came up and the store fell silent again, childlike giggles fading slowly.

Nick unlocked the back entrance just before seven a.m. He walked through and turned on the lights, stopping dead at the mess that greeted him. He went to the office and ran quickly though the previous night's security footage, watching, mystified, as he saw the displays ransacked and merchandise destroyed, seeing no people doing the damage. He slowed down the footage and played it though again, missing a white blur moving quickly across the screen.

"What the hell?" Nick wondered, picking up the phone. After a quick phone call he noticed on the monitors that the employees were arriving for the day. He motioned to one of the younger women.

"Nick, what the hell happened?" She said, gesturing to the mess in her department.

"I'm not real sure Kay. I've got the police coming in and then we're gonna have to do a quick cleanup to get open. I have a couple calls to make, can you get the group goin' after the cops are through?"

"No prob, boss." She walked away to organize a cleanup team as the local police came through and gathered photos and what little evidence they thought they had. Nick went into the office, closing the door and trusting his employees to clean up and run his business. He made another call.

***

Dean picked up his phone on the start of the second ring, cringing when Sam twisted his head on the pillow and his brow furrowed in pain. He didn't recognize the number and opened the phone, planning on giving the caller a piece of his mind.

"Hello?"

"_Is this Dean?"_

"Who is this?"

"_Jerry Panowski told me to call you. Said you and your brother could help me."_

"With what?"

"_My name is Nick Landry. I own Landry Home and Garden in Kittanning, PA. Jerry is a good friend of mine. I remember when he was having trouble at his house. He told me what was happening and I thought he was losin' his mind. Well… now I'm not so sure." _

"Look, I don't know what Jerry told you, but…"

"_I came into my store this morning and found the place ransacked, stuff thrown everywhere. I called the cops and they said there's no sign of break in, no prints, nothing."_

"It's probably neighborhood kids."

"I checked the cameras. There are no people, no kids. Then stuff just got tossed around. It's just…odd. Please, Jerry said you could help."

"It'll be a few days before we can get there. My brother is sick."

"Dean, what's goin'on?" Sam slurred, pushing himself weakly up on his elbows. Dean motioned him into silence.

"We'll be there in a couple days. Can ya give me the address?" Dean grabbed a piece of scratch paper that he'd been taking notes on and jotted down what he heard. He hung up after a couple more words.

"Is that what I think it is?" Sam said, trying and failing to sit up against the headboard. He coughed, a deep rumble that left him breathless.

"Sounds like a poltergeist from what the guy said. It can wait until you're on the mend."

"Let's jus' go. What if it hur's someone?"

"We're not huntin' while you can't even talk without sounding drunk."

"'mokay." Sam pushed up and planted his feet on the floor, upper body swaying dangerously. Dean jumped from the table as Sam started to pitch forward, his face paling.

"Sure ya are, Sasquatch." Dean tucked Sam back into bed and tipped the warm can of Seven Up to his mouth. Sam swallowed and allowed his eyes to drift closed.

***

The sun set as Gillian was getting off the bus in front of the store, Monday night. Nick met her to let her in, the other employees having just left. "'lo, Nick."

"Evenin' Gill. Thanks for comin' in. None of the others wanted to after the past couple nights."

"I'm goin' t' do the weldin' tonight. The officers said there's no sign of break in?"

"No. None."

"Well then, I'm not scared of a couple a' gremlins tossin' stuff about."

"Alright. I'll lock up and see ya in the morning. You need somethin' you call me."

"See ya then." Gill walked back, dropped off her jacket and clocked in. She placed her earphones once again and turned on the music, her head bobbing just slightly to Guns 'n Roses. She walked through the rental department and out to welding, looking over what she had to do. She heard the lock click after the lights dimmed and she smiled, thinking of her night alone and allowing the music to fade to the back of her mind as she thought of the story she was writing. The song changed and her head shot up as she heard a noise, something falling off a shelf towards the back of the store. She pulled her ear buds and draped the cord around her collar. Walking towards the back of the store, she looked around, seeing finally a box of loose screws scattered about on the floor. "How the bloody hell did that happen?" She knelt to pick up the screws and threw them by the handful back into the box. Placing it on the shelf she stood, spinning as she heard another noise. "Who's there?" she called.

She stuck her hand in her pocket and wrapped it reassuringly around the small pocket knife she carried, knowing she could use it if necessary. She walked into the rental department, her ears greeted by a hissing sound like air escaping. She breathed a sigh of annoyance tinged with relief and pulled her hand from her pocket. "Guess the guys forgot t'put the air compressor t'bed." Gillian went to unplug the device when she noticed the hose stretched out and disappearing into a darker area of the department. "Bloody hell." She muttered, closing in on the end of the hose.

"Bloody hell. Bloody hell." a gravelly voice echoed back to her from behind and she spun towards the sound, jumping at the voice coming from the darkness. A _pffft _sounded out, followed closely by the sound of breaking glass hitting the floor, before the sound rang through the warehouse area behind her and she was forcibly spun as something slammed into her shoulder blade, sending pain through her back and down her arm. Her I-pod flew from her fingers, the battery cover snapping off and sending the small cell rolling across the floor. _Pffft pfft pfft pfft. _Several more hissing sounds rang out and Gill screamed as the nails slammed into her chest, making her arch and sink to her knees as her legs seemed to disappear from beneath her. One last hiss sounded and another nail buried itself in her throat, the head of it looking like an ornament in the center of her round pendant necklace. Blood spurted from her throat and bubbled from her mouth as she slipped to the floor, her eyes closing. The blood slowly pooled around her throat spreading and forming a crimson halo around her short, red brown hair. The air nailer hit the shelf with a clatter. Child like giggles interspersed with the _pit-pat_ of running feet over the tile floor disappeared into the darkness, reddish eyes reflecting the dim light from an exit sign.

Nick unlocked the back door and let himself in, flicking on the warehouse light. "I know that, Michelle. I need the delivery here as scheduled, even if the market dating allows me to take it later. That stuff is a guaranteed sale for the first few weeks of…" Nick rounded the corner of the warehouse, light from the front of the store dimly illuminating the rental department. He took another couple steps forward and his foot came down on something, upsetting his balance. He slid before regaining his footing, looking down to find a small battery under his toes. He bent and picked it up, lifting his head as he straightened. He saw a pool of liquid on the tile floor and stopped. "…spring. Michelle, I'm gonna have to call ya back."

"Sure." Nick flipped his phone closed and walked slowly around the rental desk.

"Oh god. Oh god, oh god." Nick cried, flipping the phone open and hammering in 9-1-1.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks so much for the wonderful response to this story. I hope you'll all continue to enjoy it and leave me a review! Glad you liked it Gill. Here's your guilty Sammy! And yeah, I couldn't help the other character... it's my job after all.**

**Chapter 2**

Dean fidgeted with his tie, and Sam buttoned the jacket of his suit, brushing a large hand back through his hair and leaving it messy. He blinked his eyes and opened them wide, trying to wake up.

"I told you we should put this off a couple more days. You're still not a hundred percent."

"I'm alright Dean. You saw the newspaper story. That girl, Gillian, died because we didn't get there…" Sam snorted derisively, "because I was at death's door… with the flu." He finished.

"No, we put it off because a hunt for a freakin' feather is dangerous if we're not at the top of our game."

"We've hunted lotsa times with one of us not all there."

"And look at how that usually turns out." Dean scoffed, opening the door of the car. Sam followed as they walked across the parking lot and into the hardware store. The mood of the employees was somber, two days after the funeral of their co-worker.

A sad looking blonde glanced up from the computer at the register. "May I help you guys with anything today?" She asked, trying to force a smile.

"I'm detective Rose. This is my partner, detective Perry. We're here to speak with the owner, Nick Landry."

Kay picked up the phone and pushed a button. "Nick, two detectives are here about Gilly."

She listened as Nick spoke and then hung up. "I'll show you to the office." She led them across the store to the front corner and knocked on the edge of the door frame.

"Thanks, Kay." Sam and Dean stepped into the office and the young clerk walked away.

"What can I do for you, detectives? I've given statements already."

"I'm Dean. This is Sam." Nick looked at them, his eyes narrowing.

"You're the ones Jerry told me about?"

"We're sorry we couldn't get here before this."

"I told you something was going on. I lost one of my best employees and my store is still getting torn apart night after night!"

"We're here to stop this thing. Now. That's what matters. It will be stopped." Sam said quietly.

He sighed. "I'll let you in after closing. Nine o'clock."

***

Nick opened the door at the quiet knock, allowing Sam and Dean in past him. They put a duffle bag down on the counter. "Where do you wanna start?"

"You mentioned security footage?" Sam answered. Nick nodded and showed them into the office, bringing up footage from the night before on the monitor. It showed merchandise scattered on the floor, white and beige blurs crossing the screen from several different camera sources.

Dean's eyes narrowed on the footage, seeing the blurs and the destroyed merchandise.

"Go back to the night the girl died." he said.

"I can't. There's no footage."

"Cops take it?"

"No. The camera was working. The last images are of Gill…walking into the rental department. Something broke the camera."

"Do you have any audio?"

"No. System's not set up for it."

"Have you gotten anything weird in lately?"

"Like what?"

"Anything with any odd patterns on it, or anything from any different suppliers than usual?"

"No. Nothing I can think of."

"Look, you go home, let us have tonight, and when you come in we'll have things…taken care of."

"We're closed Sundays. Just let me know how it goes."

They locked the door behind Nick and went back into the office, Sam sliding into the chair behind the desk and grabbing a pencil from the coffee mug that housed assorted writing implements. He flipped the pencil between his fingers and used the eraser to run through the camera footage back to the night the assistant died, zooming in when something caught his eye. It was the rental department. He watched as the camera went black before turning to static. He backed up a couple frames and paused the footage.

"How'd Gillian die?"

"Coroner's report said she was shot. With nails from an air gun."

"Look at this." Sam slid sideways and Dean leaned in.

"Guess the camera died the same way." Dean said, looking at a freeze frame image of a nail point headed straight for the camera. Sam played the footage and Dean jumped when the camera was hit. Sam smirked halfheartedly. "Smartass." Dean responded.

"Poltergeist?" Sam questioned, turning off the computer system so that their images weren't captured.

"Not sure. Let's have a look." Dean said, leaving the office and heading for the weapons bag left sitting on the counter. He pulled out a sawed off and checked the barrels. Sam pulled a handgun and checked the clip, tapping it off the gun butt before sliding it firmly into place once more and dumping the pencil in the weapons bag. Dean led the way through the dimly lit store, the security lighting high in the rafters and over the exits the only illumination. They walked through the store, eyes searching for movement and ears straining to hear anything except silence and their own stealthy footfalls. Making their way towards the back they went though the big double doors into the area that housed the rental items, Sam noticing an area of discoloration in the seams between the white tiles where a small memorial had been set up between ropes that cordoned off the area.

"Must've been where the clerk bit it."

"Dean." Sam said, glaring at his brother tiredly, before lowering his gaze to the memorial again.

"Sorry." Dean muttered. "Sammy, you know we can't save everyone, right?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam said pacing away from the rental department after one last look at the picture of the clerk in the center of the memorial. She had her arm around the blonde, Kay, and both had big smiles on their faces.

Sam looked toward the air compressor where it was stored, seeing the nail gun had been moved away.

"We have to figure this out. I'm gonna have a look around the store. See if anything stands out."

"I'm comin' too. I don't want you runnin' around without someone watchin your back. You're still not…"

"I'm fine Dean. I'm just tired."

"That's what I mean."

"Fine." Sam hissed.

"Fine. Let's just check out the store." Sam and Dean walked back through the rental department and into the store, walking up through the hardware department, eyes open and looking over the antique décor and merchandise for anything out of the ordinary. Dean walked across to the tool department as Sam stepped into lawn and garden, his eyes falling on the little statues. He rolled his eyes and smirked.

"You are one ugly dude." He said to the small statue that resembled a crying child.

Dean walked down the aisle and Sam turned. "I don't see anything, man."

"Go get the EMF meter out of the bag. We'll sweep the store."

Dean stalked to the front of the store and Sam sat down on the edge of a shelf, laying his pounding head in the palm of his hand. _ Maybe Dean's right. Maybe I'm not up to this yet._

Sam heard a noise and lifted his head. "Dean?" He stood from the shelf and walked around the corner into sporting goods. Giggles resonated around him. He spun, raising the pistol. _Pat-pat-pat-pat_ rang out across the floor, faster than he could count and agony burned through his thigh, taking him to the floor hard.

"GAAHH!" Sam cried, the pistol slipping from his fingers as he slammed both hands to his thigh, fingers brushing a protrusion, causing pain to shoot though his leg. He lifted his head and looked down, seeing an object resembling an over sized, six prong fork sticking up from his leg. "Argh….guh. DEAN!"

"Sam? SAMMY!" Dean screamed, running into camping and stopping short when he saw Sam on the floor with a profusely bleeding leg. Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother.

"Un…De-." Sam choked out, writhing in pain. "F-fish sp-ear."

"Damn. I gotta get that thing out and get the bleedin' stopped." Dean said, leaning over Sam's leg.

"N-no. Dean…barbed. It's barbed." Sam puffed, his head giving a dull thunk as he rested it against the tile.

"Son of a bitch." Dean enunciated. Dean pulled off his jacket and removed his flannel shirt, wrapping it around the protruding spear to hold it steady. Sam hissed in pain and then groaned as Dean shifted his leg enough to tie the sleeves around his thigh. Raspy giggles drowned out Sam's sigh as his head worked over the floor, his face paling except for flushed cheeks. His eyes, bright with pain, opened wide and looked at Dean in fear. Dean straightened and lifted the shotgun, aiming into the darker corners of the aisle. Dean retrieved Sam's lost pistol and helped him sit up with a groan against the base of one of the shelving units. He put the gun in Sam's hand.

"Don't you pass out on me." Sam nodded and tightened his grip on the gun, his head drooping before determinedly coming up.

Dean stood, the gun swiveling as he looked around, the giggles growing louder. _Patpatpatpatpat _ resonated down the aisles and Dean chased the sound, running into lawn and garden. Dean stopped when the giggles sounded out.

"Damn, these things have gotta die!"

"Die, die, diediedie." Raspy, small voices echoed. Dean's shotgun was ripped from his hands and flung across the aisle. The sound of running feet and a giggle greeted his ears before he felt something wind around his neck. His hands shot to his throat and he felt his air cut off. Dean gasped for breath as he felt his feet lifted from the floor. His eyes tipped back and he saw a garden hose hanging from the rafters, feeling the coarse rubber wrapped tight around his neck. He scrabbled at the tightening noose and his feet kicked helplessly as his lungs began to burn. Dean watched as a white blur came out of the darkness and into bleary focus as his world grayed around the edges. One of the ugly garden statues stared up at him, shadows swarming over it's face as giggles reached his muted hearing. A muffled scream of pain reached Dean's ears over the thudding of his struggling heart.

Sam untied the makeshift bandage and gripped the handle of the fish spear, groaning as the slight pressure sent pain spiking though his leg. He pulled, the tiny barbs ripping out small chunks of tissue. He screamed and slammed his bloody hand into the tile to ground himself against the pain. Blood pooled around his thigh on the tile and he felt lightheadedness set in. Knowing he had to do something, he wrapped the stiffening shirt back around his thigh, grunting when he pulled it tight and tied it off. Sam pushed himself to his feet, using the shelving as a crutch.

"DEAN!" Sam cried, hobbling into the aisle where Dean was suspended at the end of the garden hose noose. Sam shifted to lean against the shelving and lifted the pistol, sighting in on the rubber rope. He fired and the hose trembled as the bullet cut though part of it. Dean's body lurched, his hands sliding from his throat to dangle lifelessly as his eyes slipped closed. Sam fired two more shots in rapid succession, bullets slicing though the hose. Dean dropped the several feet to the floor, landing hard. Sam slid painfully to a knee, rolling Dean over and loosening the garden hose from his neck.

"C'mon Dean, breathe. Breathe damnit!" Sam tipped Dean's head back, seeing the rapidly bruising flesh of his swelling throat. Dean rasped in a breath, curling in on himself as rough coughs shook him.

"Thank god." Sam said, slumping slightly with relief.

"S-." Dean started, coughs interrupting the word. Sam helped him sit up, wincing at the pull on his leg.

"C'mon, we gotta get the hell outta here. Figure out what we're dealing with and how to kill it." Dean nodded and Sam helped him stand, his own legs going out from under him. "Ahhgh." Dean swallowed and straightened, looping Sam's arm around his shoulders. The brothers stumbled towards the entrance, Dean grabbing the weapons bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He locked the door behind him and moved towards the car. Dean slid Sam into the passenger seat of the Impala, the youngest Winchester's head resting against the seat back as his eyes scrunched in pain.

"It was those freakin' ugly…flower pots." Dean struggled to say, his voice deep and raspy from the abuse.

"They're possessed?" Sam asked, swallowing against bile raised to his throat by the unrelenting throb of his leg.

"Dunno. Let's getcha back to the motel, stitch that leg. I'll call Landry and ask some questions." He fired the engine, pulling out of the parking lot of the store.

***

Dean tipped the water to Sam's lips, helping him swallow the pain pills. "It's the good stuff. I gotta clean and stitch that and it's gonna be a bitch. I want you feelin' no pain."

"Jus' do it already."

"It's gonna freakin' hurt, Sam! Just wait for the damn pills t'take the edge off."

"I can handle it Dean."

"Fine! You wanna be all macho. Fine!" Dean untied the shirt from Sam's leg, seeing the series of holes. He grabbed Sam's jeans and tore the holes open, revealing the puncture wounds that were ripped larger when Sam pulled the spear. Sam's back arched at the pull on the wound but he bit his lip and remained silent.

Dean grabbed the med kit from the other bed and slammed it onto the bed beside Sam, ripping open the lid. He rifled through and pulled out alcohol wipes and a suture kit. He tore into the wipes with his teeth, yanking one out of the foil packet. He shook out the folds and swabbed the wound. Sam's back arched again and his chest began to heave as the burn tore through him.

Dean halted, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his sleeve. "Damnit Sammy, just let the fuckin' pills work. Don't do this." Sam nodded furiously, breathing hard through clenched teeth. Dean's touch instantly gentled as he applied pressure to the wound to staunch the fresh bleeding that the rough treatment caused.

Soon Sam's brow smoothed and his eyes began to droop, blinking lethargically. Dean filled a syringe with a local anesthetic, injecting it into Sam's thigh.

"You good now?" Dean asked softly.

"Peachy. Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean said, smiling slightly. The smile faded when Dean began to clean and stitch the wound. Fourteen stitches later Sam was unconscious or asleep. Dean sat back and wiped blood from his hands, planting the back of his wrist against his mouth. He stood and bolted to the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach. His abused throat protested the treatment as he finally flushed the toilet and rinsed his mouth.

He avoided looking in the mirror and instead headed back into the bedroom, his eyes lingering on his sleeping sibling before shifting to find his phone. He grabbed the device and punched in the number for Nick Landry.

"Where'd you get those freakin' ugly flower pots?"

"_The Mugglies? They were a market order. Came from…Ah, let me get the invoice. I have it here at the house. Hang on."_ Dean heard him rustling some papers and then Nick was back. _"Flores. The Island. Made of natural limestone from the caves there."_

"Hope they weren't expensive."

"_What? Why?"_

"I think they're possessed, or haunted. They tried to kill me an' m'little brother."

"_God. You guys okay?"_

"Will be after a little rock breaking." Dean said. "You're closed today, right?"

"_Yeah."_

"Stay home. We're takin' care of the Fuglies tonight."

The day passed with both brothers dozing lightly. Dean woke to Sam's mumblings, feeling a slightly warm forehead beneath his hand. "Don't you get sick on me again." He checked the bandages, and the flesh beneath to find the stitches holding but the skin slightly red. Dean smeared some antibiotic cream on the wounds and changed the bandaging.

"De-?"

"'m right here kiddo."

"You 'kay?"

"Fine."

Sam yawned and forced his eyes open. "Gimme the laptop. I gotta find out what the hell we're up against."

"Already did. Talked to Nick. Found out the things are from an Indonesian Island called Flores. Location of the stone the damn things are carved from just happens to be where villagers, a few thousand years ago, burned a race of primitive people to death for snatchin' a baby. Dealin' with freakin'…"

"Ebu Gogo." Sam interrupted.

Dean glared, a smirk slowly forming.

"What? Took a Natural History class at school."

"You are such a geek."

"So, vengeful spirits then?" Sam said, easing to a sitting position and gently rubbing a cramp out of his injured leg.

"Yep. If we can round the suckers up, we've got a salt and burn and Nick can re-open on Monday only short six freakin' ugly flower pots."

"Nice."

**A/N: I'll have the last chapter up tomorrow. Remember to let me know if you liked it!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the continued interest. Enjoy the last chapter.**

**Chapter 3**

Dean pulled the Impala up to the back of the store, sliding out and jogging around. "You sure you're up for this?" Dean questioned, helping Sam stand and allowing him to hop around until he got his injured leg beneath him.

"Yeah. It just cramped up in the car." Sam replied, flexing his leg and wincing at the pull on the stitches.

"Let's take care of some Fuglies." Dean popped the trunk and reached inside, retrieving two shotguns and several rock salt cartridges. He handed Sam the lighter weight gun grabbed a large canvas bag, dumping salt from a carton into the bag. Dean shut the trunk and helped his brother up the back steps and into the store, using the key Nick had given them.

Sam raised his gun and let Dean take the lead, using his height to aim easily over Dean's shoulder as they cleared the warehouse and moved deeper into the store, passing the welding supplies and into the tool department.

Sam cut across to lawn and garden warily eyeing the area where the statues had been sitting. The area on the artificial turf was empty, the small statues of the frogs and rabbits knocked over. He lifted the shotgun higher, swinging around at every sound he heard.

Dean walked through the tool department, watching for movement. He heard Sam moving stealthily through the aisles to his right. "Ya see anything?" Dean questioned, his voice low.

"They're gone." Sam answered. Dean heard the sound of running feet pattering across the floor behind him and he spun.

"I wish we were that lucky!" Dean said, spinning with his shotgun raised. He caught sight of a blur crossing his line of sight and he zeroed in on it, firing. The sound of breaking pottery and a harsh cry rang out.

"Dean?"

"I got one of 'em. Watch your back!"

Giggles reverberated around Dean and he spun again, sighting in on the sound. He ducked instinctively as he heard something tear through the air towards him with a _whoosh._ A circular saw blade buried itself in the pegboard where his head would have been. Drill bits and more saw blades flew at him as the giggles resonated through the area. A blade embedded itself in the stock of the shotgun, cutting the side of Dean's palm and taking the gun from his hand. The drill bits bored through his jacket, pinning it to the pegboard.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, his younger brother lurching into the aisle. Dean struggled to get free. Sam grabbed the protruding ends of the drill bits and pulled out a few, dropping them to the ground. Another bit flew at them, grazing Sam's bicep and making him cry out. Dean pulled his arms out of his jacket and grabbed Sam, dragging him out of the way. A saw blade whirred through the air and sliced into Dean's side, raking a groove just beneath his ribs. Dean groaned, clapping a hand to his side.

"Damnit, we've gotta bag these sonsabitches!"

Sam grabbed the canvas bag and scooped up a handful of salt, whipping it at one of the creatures as it ran past. It shrieked, the limestone statue stilling, losing the odd red light from it's eyes.

"Dean! The salt! Hit 'em with the salt!"

Dean pulled a flask of salt from his shirt pocket, capping the bottle and whipping the white granules at a blur as it ran past. Another cry broke the silence, fading to a rasp and dying off.

Sam whipped another handful of salt at a passing blur as he moved into the plumbing department, giggles ringing out as he missed. He felt his feet fly out from under him as he was barreled into by one of the creatures, Sam's head hit the base of a shelving unit and his vision grayed out. He gasped in pain and tried to stay conscious. Ten foot sections of various size metal water pipe tipped from the shelves and landed on Sam, knocking the wind from him.

"Argh!" He cried, feeling the pipe digging into his ribs and legs, a large diameter piece coming down hard on his stitched leg. He felt warmth spreading over his thigh and knew he'd burst his sutures. The giggles closed in on him and he forced his eyes open, seeing the odd glowing red eyes of the creatures looming over him.

"Diediediediedie!" they chanted, giggling in raspy voices, an eerie, childlike and ancient tone all at once.

"SAM!!" Dean sprayed rock salt over the circling creatures, covering his ears as they cried in agony, a harpy like screech. The red lights diminished in their stone eyes.

"Sammy, ya okay?" Dean asked, lifting sections of pipe from his brother's frame. Sam laid back on the floor, his body free, fighting to catch his breath. Dean quickly picked up the statues and shoved them into the canvas bag with the remaining salt. He helped Sam to his feet, his brother wobbling slightly.

"Let's burn these suckers." Sam nodded wordlessly, swallowing as he pulled in a breath. Dean hefted the bag full of the flower pots and eased Sam's arm around his shoulders, helping his baby brother out the back door. He leaned Sam against the Impala, letting him shift his weight off of his bad leg. Dean went to the trunk, dug out another container of salt and one of lighter fluid and sat the creatures on the pavement. He doused the bag with accelerant and dropped a match, shaking salt on the growing fire just to be sure.

"One helluva night, huh Sammy?" Dean said, stepping back beside his brother and leaning heavily against his baby, tucking a hand against his sluggishly bleeding side as his shoulder bumped his brother's gently.

"No kidding." Sam said, applying pressure to his thigh. "Can we get outta here now?"

"Yeah. Let's get patched up and sleep. We'll check in with Nick and hit the freakin' road later tomorrow."

"You mean today, right?" Sam said, nodding his head in the direction of the pink horizon, where the morning sun was just beginning to peak over the treetops.

"Sometimes the family business really sucks ass."

"It's not all bad." Sam said, smirking at his brother.

"Tell me one good thing about tonight?" Dean challenged.

"We figured out where we can get some pretty creative weapons."

"You hit your head harder than I thought." Dean said, smirking.

**Hope you all liked the story. I'll be back with another one soon.**


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